


The Holy Or The Broken Hallelujah

by knittywriter



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 04:14:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knittywriter/pseuds/knittywriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Blaine visits the week before Easter, Kurt must contemplate old love and new love, betrayal and forgiveness</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Holy Or The Broken Hallelujah

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DyrneKeeper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DyrneKeeper/gifts).
  * Inspired by [This Is Not An Epiphany](https://archiveofourown.org/works/728481) by [DyrneKeeper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DyrneKeeper/pseuds/DyrneKeeper). 



 Kurt bows his head, along with the rest of the congregation. The minister – actually, a fairly cool guy, in Kurt's opinion – quietly intones a prayer, marking the end of the church service.

 

Kurt isn't really listening, shuffling his program softly in his folder, making sure the sheet music is held fast with the little rubber string down the center of it. He licks his lips, and decides he's going to need a drink of water before singing.

 

The little old lady who lived in the building next to theirs, – the frail one that Kurt had spied trying to futilely hoist her little wheeled shopping cart up the steps and had rushed to help her and been greeted with such grateful eyes and warm wide smile that he decided to take her up on her offer of a nice cookie and maybe some milk? She'd since adopted him – and Rachel and Santana – as best she could, waving brightly out the window as they walked to the train station, flagging them down on the sidewalk and forcing them to stoop so she could give them a loving, lipstick-stained kiss on the cheek, asking how their day went, how things were going. She insisted they call her Emily, and she spoiled them like a doting grandmother, slipping crushed five dollar bills into their pockets so they could “buy something nice”, giving them nice warm socks (actually, they really were – real wool and so cozy) when the weather turned cold. The morning after they'd gotten that freak ice storm, Kurt threw his coat and warmest boots on in a hurry, worrying that Emily would step out her front door and slip on the steps. He carefully shovelled away the slush, spreading a little bit of salt so it wouldn't refreeze.

 

Emily is how he wound up in the choir loft of a church – Kurt Hummel in a church choir? 

 

Emily had explained her church, a few blocks away, needed a soloist, wanted a soloist, would _pay_ for a soloist, but they couldn't find anyone willing to make the commute. An hour on Wednesday nights for rehearsal, two hours maximum on a Sunday morning, and he'd be getting $100 a week? Despite his reservations about organized religion and a stalwart belief that Sunday-morning-is-for-brunch, Kurt's frugality won out.

 

It was a good, solid choir, with a good director – one not overly-fond of schmaltzy new-age music, but inclined more toward classics – Faure and Handel and Mendelssohn. The choir was well-balanced, and strong. Kurt was shy at first, keeping his head down at rehearsal and not speaking to anyone. But everyone seemed to love his voice, and no one made any untoward comments or tried to talk him into – Kurt's not sure what he was worried about them talking to him about – burning hellfires for people just like him, or biting the heads of life roosters or being baptized or bible-

thumping or anything like that. They were just generally kind and left him to his own business.

 

He sipped his water slowly, carefully placing the cup back under his chair so he wouldn't kick it. The prayer was over, the choir rose to its feet in the choir loft as the children's choir shuffled out of their pew to stand in front of the sanctuary.

 

It was Palm Sunday, and this church had a decades-old tradition of singing _this_ particular song at the end of Palm Sunday's service. The alto seated to his right had whispered she'd started out singing the children's part, and had progressed through the choirs until she was singing in the descant choir of the adults.

 

The pianist began the introduction – a loud and strident, somewhat clanging introduction and he watched with a fond smile as the children's choir got ready to start the song. They sang the first verse, and the first refrain. The adult choir would come in for the second verse and 2ndrefrain, and then Kurt would provide the descant for the last verse and refrains.

 

He joins with the adult choir, looking out over the faces of the congregation, smiling faces looking back at him, palm branches waving, kids fidgeting, old men shifting in the pews, and Emily's 

beaming face, quietly glowing up at him.

 

He can't deny it feels good to sing like this. It feels good to let his voice out – not having to reign in, or worry about overpowering anyone, or anyone's feelings getting hurt because he's “better than them.” Here, he's getting love and appreciation in return for his talent, and even though he's 

fairly sure he doesn't believe the words he's singing, no one seems bothered by that at all.

 

When the song is over, thundering echoes and joyful noise, the congregation erupts in applause – something they don't usually do. Kurt feels himself pushed forward, just a tiny bit, and he makes a somewhat dainty bow, and the applause increases. He beams, red cheeked and giggling.

 

He walks home, slowly, down their block with Emily. They meet Santana at Emily's door – Emily's roast chicken dinner on Sundays has become something of a tradition for them.

  
  
***** 

 

Kurt has a rough day on Tuesday – too many things to do, too many things to get taken care of before Blaine arrives for his NYC college visit trip. Blaine will be sleeping in Rachel's bed while she's back home with her dads – absolutely Rachel's bed, certainly Rachel's bed – potentially sharing it with Santana, and much to Kurt's confusion, neither of them seem bothered by that arrangement.

 

Kurt and Adam go out for coffee, and it's nice. It really is nice. Adam's eyes sparkle and he makes Kurt laugh, and they talk over potential songs for the Apples and movies they'd like to go see, and it's just...it's nice. Kurt's stomach even get a little fluttery when he catches a certain look on Adam's face.

 

“So, how are you, Kurt?”

 

“Fabulous, as always.”

 

“How are you _really,_ Kurt?” Adam's eyes are kind and knowing over the rim as he sips his coffee.

 

“I'm....I'm good. I'm in the middle of a bit of a Hell Week.” Kurt's eyes widen as he gestures broadly with his hands. “I've got a huge test next week, and I can't really study for it because this week I've got recital work for my lab, and a little mini-paper due for my stage arts class and then Blaine's coming and I need to show him around and there are all these extra services at the church and I'm worried about losing my voice.”

 

“Tea, with honey and lemon for your voice.” Adam sets his mug down carefully. “Stage Arts, if you really need it, you could probably get an extension – Smithson was a choir boy himself, once upon a time, so he definitely understands the pressures of Holy Week. Flash cards for the test. And, if you get stuck, I could show Blaine around, if you need me to.”

 

On impulse, Kurt puts his hand on Adam's arm, leans over and gives him a kiss on the cheek, appreciative and warm. What this is between them isn't....isn't codified or solidified and Kurt knows it's mainly due to him. And Adam's kindness and commitment to be whatever Kurt needs.

 

But to volunteer to usher Blaine around – the boy they both know Kurt's still in love with – is just above and beyond the call of duty. And Kurt knows that Adam would do it, too – patiently and kindly, without snotty comments or underhanded dealings.

 

It actually would be quite a civil and diplomatic affair, Kurt's sure of it. If there's anyone who could match Blaine in matters of politesse and decorum, it's Adam. He smiles fondly at the thought – Adam and Blaine each insisting the other go through the door first, arguing over who will hold out the chair when they sit down, firm handshakes and kind smiles.

 

And then Kurt's heart wrenches tight, because.....just because. The thought of them together, kindly and firmly remaining in his life, despite everything that's gone on....it just breaks his heart somehow.

  
*****  


 

Blaine arrives Wednesday afternoon while Kurt is in class. Santana meets him at the train station, walks him back to the loft, pointing out the little store they get their groceries from, the bar she's waitressing at, Kurt's favourite Thai place, the resale shops they've scrounged to find most of their furnishings.

 

When Kurt sails in, Blaine and Santana are watching a movie sprawled on the couch, Santana curled into Blaine's side, his arm around her and her head on his chest.

 

“Ehhhh,” she prods Blaine roughly. “His boobs need some work, but he's definitely a step up from Bruce, Kurt.”

 

Blaine's eyes open wide, questioningly, as he looks at Kurt. But he doesn't say anything.

 

“Good to know,” Kurt says calmly. “I'll keep that in mind.”

 

Blaine sits on Kurt's bed, cross-legged, as Kurt hurriedly dresses for the Ash Wednesday service. They chat about their day, Blaine's travel, plans for the next few days. It's nice. Really nice. Like putting on your favorite comfy slippers after a long day in your boots.

 

Blaine stays at the loft while Kurt goes to the service, resuming the movie with Santana.

Adam meets Kurt at the door of the sanctuary, brushing a light kiss to Kurt's temple as he quietly takes his hand. They walk in, hand-in-hand, until it's time for Kurt to go sit in the choir loft. Adam sits at the end of his accustomed pew, looking up and around the church, eyes lighting on his favourite painting which he studies with interest throughout the service.

 

Kurt watches him, from the choir loft. Sometimes their eyes meet, and Adam's face lights in a small smile. Kurt keeps his expression neutral.

 

The songs for this service are depressing, mournful and dark. He thought everyone got up to get ash wiped across their forehead, but apparently not in this church. There's just a weight, heavy and trepidatious and uncomfortable that settles on him. It doesn't go away when the service ends.

 

He walks Adam to the train station, rubbing at his forehead exhaustedly with one hand. The other is tangled with Adam's, Adam's thumb rubbing over Kurt's knuckles.

 

“The service is at 7 tomorrow night?” Adam asks.

 

“Yes. Seven.” Kurt can't stop the blooming pain between his eyebrows.

 

“I'll see you then, then?” Adam scrabbles in his pocket for his train pass, not looking up.

 

“Yes. See you then.”

 

Adam presses the pass to the reader. There's a beep and he walks through the turnstile.

 

“Adam?” Kurt calls as he's walking away.

 

Adam turns, his eyebrows raised. “Yes?”

 

“I.....nevermind,” Kurt shakes his head, smiling ruefully. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

 

“Don't forget the tea, for your throat.”

  
*****  


 

Santana has kidnapped Blaine. Or so the brief note on Kurt's bedside table reads.

The sun shining through the windows is much brighter than it should be, and Kurt jolts out of bed when he realizes someone turned his alarm clock off. Thankfully, his class isn't until this afternoon, but still.

 

He was supposed to be showing Blaine around. He'd rearranged everything so he'd have this morning with Blaine, to show him the....the everything he'd wanted to show him. Everything he'd planned on showing him, planned it for months now.

 

His head is still throbbing. He makes some breakfast so he can take some medicine, brews himself some tea, and curls back on his bed. Bruce provides the perfect angle so he can sip at his tea, willing himself to relax.

 

He wakes up a few hours later, to the sound of the front door sliding open. Through the curtain, he can hear Blaine and Santana, talking quietly above the rustle of plastic shopping bags.

He sees Blaine peering through the curtain, trying to judge if Kurt is awake. Blaine smiles brightly when he sees Kurt waving him inside.

 

“You okay? You seemed pretty out of it when you got back last night.”

 

“I think this stupid virus that's been going around has finally caught up with me. My head's better for now, but...”

 

“It hurt a lot last night,” Blaine supplies.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Anything else? I mean, your throat or anything?”

 

“No, just my head.”

 

Blaine glances awkwardly around Kurt's room. There is only one framed photograph, on Kurt's dresser – he and his dad and Carole and Finn at his dad and Carole's wedding. It looks like there should be more photos, places where they might have been.

 

“So, uhhh,” Kurt shifts in bed, pulling the pillow out from behind him. “This is Bruce, by the way.”

 

“Bruce is a pillow?” Blaine's voice is amused and relieved, all at the same time.

 

“Mmmm,” Kurt sits up, stretching his arms above his head. “He never complains no matter how much I drool on his shirt.”

 

Blaine huffs a small laugh. Both of them always insisted they never drooled in their sleep, all the while knowing perfectly well that they both did.

 

“We got some lunch? If you're hungry? Thai from that place Tana said you liked?”

 

“Cashew chicken?” Kurt says hopefully.

 

“A double order. And saffron rice. And some lime ice.”

 

“Ohhhhh god, I love you,” Kurt groans, then pulls himself up short. He wants to bury his face in his hands, or slap his forehead. He knows if he tries to explain, it will just devolve into babbling nonsense.

 

But Blaine just smiles, a little sadly, and swallows. “Well, the food's getting cold, so....”

 

“I'll be right there.”

 

Blaine turns and leaves. There is the sound of clattering cutlery and plates, something that sounds like a soda bottle being opened. Santana is chattering away, with only murmured accompaniments from Blaine.

  
*****  


 

There is time, before Kurt's class, to take Blaine to the coffee shop Kurt has been saving for him. Warm wood paneled walls, comfortable chairs scattered about, ragged books on shelves, just begging to be read. A battered chess set is already set up in the corner, near a glass case full of housemade pastries.

 

The way Blaine smiles down at a small toddler chasing her ball under his chair makes it hard for Kurt to breathe.

 

 

That night's service is a service of Tenebrae – a service of shadows, for Maundy Thursday. There are only a few hymns that will be sung, and Kurt's favourite soprano will sing a solo.

He knows absolutely nothing about the service, and when he walks in behind Santana and Blaine, and Adam, he's intrigued by the placement of candles all around the sanctuary. The electric lights are still on, but lit candles of all different sizes – all white – are placed in candelabras and candlesticks and glass hurricane globes.

 

The choir is sitting amongst the congregation tonight, and as it happens, they file into the pew, Kurt is between Blaine on his right and Adam on his left. They shift awkwardly, the wooden pew creaking as they try to find comfortable divots in the hard cushion.

 

The service begins. The organ plays, demi-voix, low and muted. The minister begins to read the scripture. After the first section, the electric lights are turned out, and the sanctuary is filled with a glowing, guttering light. The candlelight on the cream coloured walls reminds Kurt of Blaine's eyes, and he glances up to find Blaine calmly looking back at him.

 

They sing a hymn, mournful and dirgelike and sad. There is more scripture reading, in the minister's low and passionate voice. It's a story Kurt's not familiar with, but he keeps hearing one word over and over again.

 

Betrayal.

 

Betrayal. One of you will be betray me.

 

There's the service of communion, in an echo of the scripture. Kurt hadn't planned on it, but when the silver plate is handed through their pew, he finds himself slowly taking a cube of bread, putting it in his mouth, chewing it meditatively.

 

Betrayal.

 

He nearly chokes on the dry bread, forcing himself to swallow hard, over and over to get it down.

 

They pass around small cups – tinier than a shot glass – of what he thinks is wine, but turns out to be grape juice. He takes one, swallows it. It's not quite enough to wash down the knot in his throat. All it really does it sear the back of his throat.

 

It weighs down on him. Betrayal. The emptiness and loneliness and heartbreak that comes with it. He thinks ruefully, after his – their – betrayal, at least he wasn't going to be nailed to some wood and left to die. He wonders if that's an offensive thought to be having in a church, and it distracts him momentarily.

 

More candles are extinguished. The congregation is mostly in darkness, and Kurt can feel the darkness pushing in on him, surrounding him. Betrayal. All coming back to him now, betrayal and anger and emptiness. Except it's not empty. It's a pit of sharp words and sharp aches and the hot slicing pain of them as he fell into that pit.

 

It's easier to feel the emptiness, to deny the light. That doesn't hurt so much, and Kurt's chest physically hurts, actually feels like he can't breathe.

 

Betrayal. Left alone.

 

More candles are extinguished, and Sarah stands to sing her solo. A spiritual, her voice soaring over everyone, throbbing with intensity.

 

_Sometimes, it causes me to tremble_

 

Kurt can feel himself trembling, with sadness and unshed tears, with anger and unspoken words, too much spoken. With anguish at the shattered past, the memories tarnished by what came after them.

 

More scripture. The rest of the candles are out, leaving only one still lit. It burns brightly, then gutters and falters, before sputtering to life again.

 

Betrayal. Alone.

 

That candle is extinguished as well, and Kurt feels a sob spring from his throat in the sudden darkness. He reaches out blindly, before he falls again into that pit, farther into darkness, and a strong warm hand finds his, without being able to see.

 

The hand is warm and comforting, squeezing gently, steadying him as they stand in the blackness, silently feeling their way out of the pews. The hand switches, then a steadying hand at his elbow. Kurt  is feeling dizzy and disoriented.

 

As they step out into the night air, Kurt realizes slowly that it's Blaine. It's Blaine at his side, Blaine that found him in the dark, Blaine who right now watching him with such love and concern in his eyes.

 

Blaine's hand is still clutched in both of Kurt's.

 

Adam clears his throat, sharply, taking in their clasped hands, and nods sadly, just once. He helps Santana on with her coat, murmuring a “have a good evening” and walking away in the direction of the train station.

 

“Kurt, you don't look so good,” Santana presses the back of her hand to Kurt's forehead, and he flinches away from the cold of it. “You're burning up.”

 

“I.....I don't feel well,” he says softly.

 

“Let's get you home. You need some medicine.”

 

“I need.....yes,” Kurt wavers, and Blaine is there, tight against his body, offering support. He wearily leans his head down against Blaine's, and they walk slowly home.

 

 

Kurt's got a fever, Blaine insists and clucks his tongue dismissively when Kurt tries to argue that he doesn't. 

 

“Oh my god, you are always the worst patient.” Blaine complains “Just give up, and take the medicine and go to sleep.”

 

“I hate being the patient.”

 

“Not what I heard,” Santana calls from the bathroom. “I heard you two _loooooove_ to play doctor.”

 

“Santana!” Kurt begins, and quickly loses the energy to scold her.

 

“I miss playing doctor,” he mumbles as he drops to his bed. “You were always the best doctor.”

 

Blaine pretends he doesn't hear. Santana comes in with the thermometer, and she and Blaine banter quietly while Kurt has it under his tongue, breathing fast with over-bright and burning eyes.

 

“102.4. Shit, Kurt. That's definitely a fever.”

 

“Hunh. When do we start freaking out? About how high his fever is, I mean?” Santana asks.

 

“Not yet. We do have to get him cooling down, though. Right now.” Blaine directs.

 

Kurt skins hurts. His scalp hurts, his hair hurts. He's pretty sure his nails hurt. Everything is too much and whenever anything touches him, it burns down freezing on his skin.

 

He realizes that both Blaine and Santana are undressing him, Santana kneeling to peel off his socks and shoes, Blaine unbutton his vest and shirt. When he's down to just his underwear – and he is expecting Santana to make some comment, and is surprised when she doesn't – they help him lie back on his pillows. Santana rushes to get some medicine, while Blaine drapes a light blanket over Kurt.

 

She comes back with a few cool damp washcloths, a cup of water, with one of the giant ridiculous plastic straws that Rachel loves – Kurt is filled with a vague sense of longing for Rachel and her ridiculousness and he hopes she's enjoying the holiday with her dads – and the medicine. Blaine coaxes Kurt to drink first, then helps him swallow the pills before settling back down on the bed. He gently lays one washcloth on Kurt’s forehead tucking one in his armpit despite Kurt’s wriggling, trying to help his overheating body cool down.

 

“Okay, well, Shortstuff, I'm going to go watch a movie, if you wanna---” Santana starts.

“Stay,” Kurt reaches out and grabs Blaine's hand. “Please stay with me.”

 

Blaine smiles at Santana, who rolls her eyes and blows him a kiss before leaving.

 

“Let me switch sides then.” Blaine lets go, walking around the side of the bed, sitting down on the other side, pushing the pillow – and Bruce – up against the headboard. He crosses his legs at the ankles, and takes Kurt's hand again.

 

“I just want to....” Kurt rasps. “I need to...”

 

“Kurt, you are not dying.”

 

“No, I know but--”

 

“You always think you're going to die, whenever you have a fever. And I grant you this is a pretty high one, but you're still not going to die--”

 

“I--”

 

“--because I won't let you.” Blaine finishes.

 

Kurt's eyes fill with tears – fevers always bring him close to tears. Blaine doesn't do anything half-way. He does everything with everything he has. He hurt Kurt the most, he betrayed Kurt, he broke his heart......but he broke his own as well. He betrayed himself. And, despite it all, he's still loving Kurt, with his entire heart and soul.

 

“Can you,” Kurt grimaces and clears his throat, “can you turn out the light?”

 

Blaine switches the light off, and they are silent in the moon-blue room.

 

“Will you stay? With me, tonight?” Kurt whispers.

 

Blaine responds by shuffling his body down, still holding Kurt's hand. Kurt brings their hands up, and under his cheek – pulling them closer together.

 

Blaine's breath is gentle on his forehead, lulling him to sleep. So he does.

  
*****  


 

He wakes up in the middle of the night, shivering violently. There's sweat literally pouring down his body, which aches with every shudder, yet he's freezing cold.

Blaine is awake instantly beside him, handing him more medicine to take, murmuring words of comfort. Wrapping his arms safely around him, warming him gently. Giving him the comfort of his body.

  
*****  


 

Kurt pretty much sleeps through Good Friday.

Blaine brings him soup and medicine and urges him to drink more water. His fever is much lower, but still raging.

  
*****  


 

Kurt wakes late Saturday morning, feeling dazed. He's pretty sure his fever is gone, though he's still aching.

 

He rubs his head against Blaine's chest, where it's been resting for quite a while, judging from the pool of drool on it.

 

Blaine's arms tighten around him, and Kurt tilts his head so he can look up at Blaine's face. His eyes are still closed, but a small smile plays around his mouth.

 

“Mmmm, Kurt.” He rumbles.

 

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Kurt whispers.

 

“How are you feeling? Do you need anything?” Blaine's eyes come open, blinking repeatedly.

 

“No. I'm....I'm good. I think the fever's gone.”

 

Blaine turns his head and looks at the clock on the bedside table.

 

“Ready for breakfast?”

 

Kurt's still a little wobbly and weak, so he shuffles to the couch while Blaine throws on his running shoes and heads for the bagel shop a few blocks away. He returns with a newspaper, a large paper bag Kurt assumes is bagels, and a tray of three coffees. He delivers Santana to her while she's still in bed, murmuring something to her that earns him a half-hearted slap on the arm and a giggle.

 

They sit on the couch, one at either end, chewing their bagels, drinking their coffee. Blaine tucks his feet up, snapping open and folding the newspaper to rest on his knees. He chews on a pen, staring at the crossword puzzle.

 

Blaine jots down a few words, scratching his hand through his curls before reaching out absent-mindedly with it to rest on Kurt's neck. He massages gently, snatching it away to take the pen out of his teeth when he figures out another clue. Kurt can hear Santana sitting up in bed, the springs creaking. There's the hum of the water heater, and someone yelling outside, and the scritch scritch of Blaine's pen.

 

Kurt is struck with the sudden realization he's happy. Happy like he's never known before. He watches Blaine, concentrated on the crossword in front of him, and is overwhelmed. He leans over, resting his head on Blaine's shoulder and Blaine puts his arm gently around him.

 

“Three letters for 'Nice summer',” Blaine murmurs, tapping the paper with the end of the pen.

 

“Hmmmmm...” Kurt's hand reaches up to play at Blaine's collar, gently caressing with his fingertips. “Ete.”

 

“Ete?”

 

“The word for summer in French is “Ete.” Neeeece summer, as in Nice, France.”

 

“Ohhhh, that makes sense.” Blaine marks it in.

 

Kurt brings his nose up, smelling the crease of Blaine's neck. Coffee and sweat and the Bay Rum aftershave he's always used.

 

“1974 OSU kicker. Eleven letters.” Blaine chomps down on the pen.

 

“I....have no idea.”

 

“Your dad would know.” Blaine reaches for his phone.

 

“You're going to call my dad on Saturday morning?”

 

Blaine is scrolling through his contact list. “That's usually when we talk, actually.”

 

“Usually,” Kurt states.

 

“Yeah. We talk once or twice a week, unless he's got an appointment. Then we talk more.”

 

“You talk to my dad once or twice a week. Or more.”

 

Blaine looks at him, eyes wide and somewhat confused. “I told you I'd look after him for you.”

Kurt can't swallow around the knot in his throat, but he's decided. He's finally seen what has been right in front of him the whole time. He stands up abruptly, swaying slightly, holding out his hands.

 

“Come with me.”

 

Blaine just stares blankly up at him.

 

Kurt shakes his hands insistently. “Please. Come with me. Come here.”

 

Blaine puts his hands in Kurt's, standing up and following as Kurt backs toward his bedroom.

 

“Kurt, I....” he begins, and falters.

 

“I....I don't want to do this anymore. Without you. I....when I needed you, you were there.” It will always be Blaine’s hand that finds him in the dark.

 

Blaine shakes his head, smiling. “Always.”

 

Kurt slips the curtains closed behind them, and turns to take Blaine's hand.

 

Hesitating, slowly, giving Blaine the opportunity to back away, to turn away, to say it's too late, Kurt leans closer. And closer still. And still Blaine is standing, rock solid in front of him.

 

At the last moment, with their lips hovering, Blaine tilts his head, nuzzling his nose softly into Kurt's.

 

Acceptance. Understanding. Love. Togetherness. Compassion and passion, all rolled into one.

 

The feel of Blaine's lips under his, of Blaine against him is enough to make Kurt feel like he's flying, stripping down clothes and rolling together on the bed.

 

They both hear Santana clearing her throat and loudly proclaiming she's been struck with an undeniable urge to go to a museum or some shit, maybe a movie, and will definitely be gone for several, several hours.

 

They giggle into each other's mouths, hands gliding and rubbing, tickling and caressing.

 

“We...” Blaine pants, “We need to....”

 

“Please. Please come back. Please let me come back. What else do we need to say? Please be with me. Please love me again,” Kurt whispers frantically. “I want you to. Please.”

 

“Okay,” Blaine had imagined it would talk more discussion. More talking, more words, more something. But, in the end, it's all so simple.

 

“I love you so much, Kurt,” his voice breaking.

 

“I love you, too.”

  
*****  


 

When Santana returns, they've already ordered pizza, sitting respectably, showered and clothed at the table. As she walks airily by Blaine, she taps the large purpling lovebite on his neck, and he dissolves into laughter.

 

Kurt feels light. Alight and alive.

 

When he curls up and around Blaine that night, around the man he loves, sighing into him, relaxing the hard rein he's held on his heart, opening himself and giving everything, absolutely everything he has to Blaine, he feels the strongest he ever has. 

 

The last of the shell he’s built around him cracks away, and he sobs with the freedom of it. He knows Blaine is crying as well, but it’s the last pains, the last gasps of this awful ghost they’ve been. 

 

*****

 

Sunday morning, Easter.

 

The day dawns crisp and cold with a bright blue sky. They dress warmly, making their way to church arms wrapped around each other's waists.

 

Just outside is Emily, bundled warmly against the cold. Kurt's never seen her smile so brightly as she sees them.

 

“Emily, this is Blaine,” Kurt introduces them, as Blaine takes her hand. Emily pulls him down so she can kiss his cheek soundly.

 

“It’s so lovely to meet you, Blaine,” she says happily. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

 

Kurt is surprised, doesn’t really remember talking about Blaine to her. He thought he’d been purposefully not mentioning Blaine, a bruise he worried in private.

 

Blaine offers him her arm, gallantly, and she beams at him. She takes Kurt’s arm as well, letting them help her into the sanctuary.

 

“You know, boys,” she whispers as they walk. “They say scar tissue is the strongest tissue in your body.”

 

Kurt is pondering that seeming non sequitur as he heads toward the choir loft. Emily and Blaine are tucked into a pew, and chattering away. Kurt is sure that he’s floating around on air.

 

The last piece of the service will be the Hallelujah Chorus from Handel’s Messiah. During the final hymn, anyone who wishes to sing with the choir is invited to make their way to the choir loft during the final hymn. 

 

Kurt waggles his eyebrows at Blaine in invitation, and Blaine laughs, shrugging. He whispers in Emily’s ear, who pats him on the arm as he picks his way out of the pew and makes his way up to where Kurt is standing.

 

The choir loft is packed, and yet the sanctuary still seems full to overflowing. Kurt feels a light hand on his waist, and there’s Blaine.

 

“Do you know this one?” Kurt whispers as he holds the music in front of him.

 

“We did in a festival choir back at my old school,” Blaine whispers back. “I’m not quite sure I can still sing the Alto part, though.”

 

“I’m going with the tenor part -- it shouldn’t be too high for you.”

 

The director gets everyone’s attention, before nodding to the organist. The organ blasts forth, loud and thundering.

 

It is glorious to sing with Blaine at his side again. No performing, no carrying the group, no solos or choreography. Just the singing they both love. In the packed loft, sharing a copy of the sheet music, no one seems to notice that Blaine wraps his arm around Kurt to snug him in closer. After a moment, Kurt does the same, each holding the music steady with their other hands.

 

When the last note sounds, joyously thundering, the echos of it reverberating through the sanctuary, Kurt has goosebumps all over his body. He sees Emily standing, with tears streaming down over the beaming smile on her face. Something magical is happening, something he’s only felt the edges of before, and it’s happening here, with Blaine at his side. 

 

Resurrection. Rebirth. Reawakening. Something that has been in the world, was thought dead and buried, is now living again, breathing hope and renewal.

 

Blaine’s lips are on his, firmly, soulfully. A promise, a commitment, a vow. And Kurt returns it, with all his heart.


End file.
